


Mac & Cheese

by elena0206



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: First Meetings, I mean duh this is Nigel, Language, M/M, Spacedogs Appreciation Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elena0206/pseuds/elena0206
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cereal and mac & cheese boxes are not Schrödinger's cat. They don't exist in a state of quantum superposition, simultaneously being there and not being there. Adam consumed all of them and they simply are not there anymore – or at least not in the same state of matter. And that's a fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mac & Cheese

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tea_Stain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_Stain/gifts).



> Spacedogs Appreciation Week is upon us and this is my first time participating. It's actually the first time I write anything for this ship, so it was a bit scary at first. But I had fun writing this!
> 
> Thank you Z for this prompt and I hope you like the way it turned out. ♥ 
> 
> Enjoy!

Disappointed with the wooden cupboard's dusty emptiness, Adam closes the door carefully and waits a few seconds. He looks around the kitchen. There are towels neatly folded and placed on a shelf. The white surface of the tall fridge is covered in little colorful magnets taking the shape of planets. Adam isn't quite happy with them: the proportions are inaccurate and Pluto is not even an actual planet. Yet there it is, in the same set with the other magnets. Three plants are sitting in brown pots on the windowsill. One of them is a _Mimosa pudica_ , so fragile and gentle, its leaves folding and drooping at even the most gentle of touches. " _They need watering_ ," Adam tells himself.  Everything is still and undisturbed, like it is supposed to be. Except that when he opens the cupboard door again, the inside is still empty. Of course it is. Cereal and macaroni and cheese boxes are not Schrödinger's cat. They don't exist in a state of quantum superposition, simultaneously being there and not being there. Adam consumed all of them and they simply are not there anymore – or at least not in the same state of matter. And that's a fact.

The local store is supposed to deliver his groceries every Tuesday and Saturday between 9 and 10 am. Adam looks at the clock on the wall, then at the red calendar hanging underneath, and then back again at the clock. It is 10:30 on a Saturday and the groceries are not there yet. And that's another fact – one that Adam has to face and deal with.

He grunts softly and sits down on a chair. He knows what this means. It means that he has to go outside to the supermarket and buy food for himself. Or he can just skip eating for the day, and hope that they will remember to deliver his groceries the next morning.

"No."

That's not an alternative anymore. Adam has come so far here in California. He has a job that he loves, an apartment, and he has friends. He goes out on his own, tries new food in restaurants, pays the bills, and socializes. He can do things alone when things are to be done alone, but he can also be around people, offer help and ask for help, make connections. He has come so far, and he won't just let it slip away because the store employees forgot about his delivery. He can do this. He knows he can.

"I can't do it.”

The whisper leaves his lips when he touches the doorknob. He freezes. He can't open the door to go out, but he can't turn around either. So he waits. A second, two, three. And then a full minute. Adam's mind is blank and he feels stuck. He's aware of the clock dully ticking somewhere on the wall, and a dog barking outside, and the sound of footsteps passing by his door. He's aware of the minutes unfolding one after another and the fact that he's still standing there, one hand firmly grasping the doorknob. He can't tell whether his hand has gone cold or the doorknob has warmed up, but they have reached temperature equilibrium. Adam thinks of fungi and how rapidly they spread and grow and how his hand doesn't feel his anymore. His whole body feels foreign and empty – almost doesn't _feel_ at all. Like a marble statue.

But he's not that. Adam is a living, breathing man with a pulse and a central nervous system, and he can do it. He knows he can. Moving for just an inch away from the door is all it takes and Adam can walk again now. He takes a deep breath and starts pacing through the living room anxiously, fumbling his hands, stimming.

When he stops, he's in the front of the window. It's late in springtime and the trees are a fresh shade of green. There's a light shower outside and Adam watches the raindrops making seemingly chaotic patterns on the window. But he knows there's order in the way each drop hits the glass surface and that it's all decided by velocity and mass and angle and pressure and density.

He can do this. He has to. He wants to.

He does it.

The raindrops hit Adam's black umbrella noisily as he takes broad steps towards the supermarket.

* * *

The fucking cupboards are all fucking empty. Nigel opens and slams door after door, drawer after drawer, throwing empty boxes and plastic wrappers on the floor and making the dust rise and fall slowly down again. There's no food left in the whole fucking house and the realization hasn't even settled in completely, but his stomach is already growing in painful protest.

"Fucking wonderful."

He has been recovering for a few days after a particularly messy fight, but he isn't fully ready to go out yet. He must have broken a rib or two and it hurts like fucking hell. His left shoulder isn't any better and he can barely use his arm without uttering more profanities than seconds in a minute and all possible and impossible variations of the word " _fuck_ ".

Now Nigel is sitting at the kitchen table on an old wooden chair that keeps creaking and squeaking as he's bouncing his leg up and down. He flew away from Romania when _treaba s-a împuțit_ *, as they say it, and travelled to the US. He lived a nomadic sort of life for a few months, moving from one state to the other, selling counterfeit hydrocodone and doing various morally questionable side jobs. It was nothing new for him, he's always been on the run, doing the deeds that others didn't even dare talk about. He earned just enough money to pay for cheap and dirty motel rooms he'd share with fucking cockroaches and other similar clandestine roommates and for food, but nothing more. He got fucking tired of that. It became exhausting and draining, and although Nigel hates to admit it, he’s not so young anymore. Keeping up with the same lifestyle as before would be impossible. He needs to stop running at some point and maybe even start thinking of a retirement plan. The fucking thought alone still makes Nigel chuckle.

He settled in California where he pulled a few strings, made a few threats, punched a few faces, and got himself a flat with half the initial rent price. He started working as a bodyguard at a rather obscure night club and everything went by smoothly. Technically, he wasn't doing his job well. Practically, the club's profit almost fucking doubled since he started working there. Nigel would let teens slip in all the time, and they were the ones to spend truly reckless amounts at the bar. Nobody complained, so Nigel couldn't fucking complain either.

Until a few days ago when a group of men recognized him and decided to solve their unfinished business. Apparently, one of their friends was hospitalized after taking the drugs he had bought from Nigel. Apparently, it was Nigel's fault. And apparently, " _now he gets his fucking fix for free_ " was not the wisest thing to say to a bunch of angry fuckers. But Nigel only decided on that when they cornered him on a dark alley and started beating the hell out of him. He got to throw a few good punches too, and most certainly left one of them with fewer teeth than normally. " _The fucking Tooth Fairy hit the jackpot,_ " Nigel said as the poor fucking guy was helplessly watching his teeth slip through his fingers. He got knocked out after laughing at his own fucking joke. He couldn’t really blame them. When he woke up, he had to crawl to get a taxi back home. But Nigel had worse than that. He knew he'd eventually recover with minimal damage.

He keeps dragging on his cigarette until the filter starts burning, and only then stubs it out on the rusty metal ashtray. He has to go out and buy some food – that much is clear. He also has to find a new job, but one fucking step at a time.

First, the food.

Instinctively, he opens the pack of cigarettes to pull a second one out before leaving, but notices it is empty. He smashes it in his hand and throws it on the floor with an annoyed grunt.

First, the food _and_ cigarettes. And then everything else could fucking wait.

After heavily limping down the stairs and swearing with each and every step taken, he eventually manages to get outside, only to notice it has started raining. The wind ruffles his hair and the cold makes his injuries throb in painful waves.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath and zips the black jacket up.

* * *

Adam and Nigel both arrive at the supermarket at the same time. Adam and Nigel both attempt to go through the revolving door at the same time. Adam and Nigel step on each other's feet and clash their shoulders together roughly, getting stuck between the glass walls for a brief moment, before stumbling inside the supermarket clumsily.

"Watch your fucking step," yells Nigel, both out of pain and annoyance, shoving Adam to the side, and then grasping at his still wounded and still painful shoulder. He looks at the man in front of him and notices that he's not too short and he's not too skinny, but there's something that makes him look so damn fragile. Like he's made out of fucking porcelain. And when he doesn't reply and he doesn't move, Nigel thinks that he might have actually fucking broken him.

Adam keeps staring down, focusing on the hem of his beige pants that is now dirty with mud and imprinted with the firm pattern from Nigel's sole of the shoe. But it's not just mud, there's some sort of dark soot too, and Adam knows the wetness will only create a sludge that will smear and be even more difficult to remove. He sighs. He should have stayed at home. Now one of his favorite pairs of pants is probably compromised, and there's a stranger staring at him, even though Adam is trying hard to ignore him.

"Are you fucking fine?" Nigel insists, now genuinely concerned that he might have hit him too hard. Injuring this fucking kid is the last thing he fucking needs right now.

Slowly, Adam raises his head. "Is that... a sexual question?" he asks for clarification and frowns slightly, staring at the other man with uncertainty. "Because _fine_ is an adjective, not an adverb." Adam thinks it is certainly an inappropriate question to be asked, especially after they've met like this, but he has heard worse.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

 Nigel has this dumbfounded look on his face that people usually have after Adam says something that upsets them, and he isn't sure what went wrong, but something did. Something certainly did go wrong.

"That word you keep using... It means—"

"I fucking know what it fucking means."

"Oh," Adam gasps softly. "Okay." So it's not _that_.

Nigel shakes his head, unsure what to make out of this whole conversation. It makes no fucking sense to him.

"Well, then. Bye," Adam adds hesitantly, lifting his shoulders a little.

Nigel doesn't respond and turns around to head for the aisle where mac and cheese is supposed to be. He barely has any money and absolutely no desire to cook, so this seems like the best alternative.

Adam starts walking too in the same direction. He knows exactly where mac and cheese is and he can't wait to get a few boxes and return home. Then he could eat in silence while watching one of his favorite documentaries. He has Stephen Hawking's " _The Story of Everything_ " planned for today. He certainly doesn't expect to find out any information he doesn’t know already, but keeping an eye out for potential factual errors is entertaining enough. After writing a few lengthy letters to publishers regarding the errors in their books, Adam was offered the chance to write honest reviews in exchange of gaining early access to the newest titles. He gladly accepted. It's a nice little life he has here and this crude stranger won't change anything.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Nigel questions when noticing Adam a few steps behind him.

"Walking."

"Are you fucking following me?"

"No. I told you I'm just walking."

"Then fucking walk somewhere else."

"This is where I need to go," Adam says, pointing with his hand along the aisle they're on.

"Fucking freak," Nigel whispers under his breath and changes direction on a secondary aisle so that he doesn't have to walk with that fucking strange kid anymore. He's cold and hungry and in pain and dealing with random people's shit is not on his schedule today. If he wants to get back on track with his life and find a new job, he'll have to keep out of trouble, at least for a while. And that's the only reason why he hasn't kicked this kid's ass yet. He looks back over his shoulder. That's the only fucking reason.

Adam shrugs and continues walking at his regular pace. The supermarket is surprisingly empty today.

* * *

Adam notices that there is only one single box of macaroni and cheese left. Nigel notices that the shelf is almost fucking empty. They both reach out for the last box and pull at one end each.

"What the fuck do you want?"

At this point Nigel is convinced the other is just fucking around with him. Out of the whole supermarket he had to stop here and he had to go for the same box as him. It's not even about the fucking mac and cheese anymore; it's about figuring what the hell is going on.

"Mac and cheese," Adam replies calmly, looking clearly surprised as if Nigel is overreacting.

Which he absolutely fucking is. But it's not one of the best days to bump into him and follow him and then try to get the last box of mac and cheese before him. It just fucking isn't. Nigel has had enough of this shit.

"Well, I want the fucking mac and cheese too. Do you see why we have a fucking problem?"

Adam watches Nigel's hand firmly pressed on the box, so firmly that the skin over his knuckles turns white and the box starts to bend and crush under his touch. Adam has seen that sort of firm grip before and he knows it means the other must want that box of mac and cheese really badly. But he wants and needs it too.

"There is only one box left," Adam remarks simply, and Nigel nods.

"Yes, there is only one fucking box left. Now what's to be done about that?"

He tilts his head to the side, not actually expecting an answer from the other. He just wants him to let go and find something else to buy and just fucking leave him alone.

To his dismay, Adam thinks of the opposite.

"We could share it," he proposes and the words leaving his lips drag after them a prolonged pause in which Nigel just stares at Adam, half amused and half _whatever-fucking-feeling-this-is_.

"We could share it," Nigel repeats as if trying to understand what these words actually mean. And then again, smirking.

Adam nods in agreement, and Nigel turns to an old lady passing by and grabs her arm, making her jump and yelp.

"Did you fucking hear him?" he asks her. "He said we could fucking share it," Nigel continues after the woman nods that no, she didn't hear him. "Fucking share it. Can you fucking believe this?"

She shrugs in confusion and Nigel lets go of her arm, watching her rush away from them.

Nigel has a wide smile on his face and his eyes sparkle in a way that Adam can't quite understand. He seems amused and he didn't say no, so Adam can only assume that he agrees to share the last box of mac and cheese with him. But there's something in his voice – a sort of curl to his words, a twist of the tongue – that makes Adam feel like Nigel is lying. Or at least deceiving in some way. Adam's arms are hanging loosely by his sides, but he tenses up and clenches his fists when Nigel turns around to face him again.

"What's your deal?"

Adam frowns. "What–"

"I said, what's your fucking deal?"

He bends closer to Adam and now he looks threatening and Adam is sure this is not agreement. He swallows.

"You bump into me, you follow me, and now you want to share fucking mac and cheese with me. So what the fuck is your fucking deal?"

Adam looks down and deliberates for a moment and then bursts out – all at once, all much louder and harshly sounding that he might have planned. "Do you think I'd do any of this on purpose? Do you think I like bumping into people and following them and having to share macaroni and cheese with them? Because I don't. I don't want any of this. I don't know you and I don't care who you are."

Nigel takes one step back and raises his eyebrows, suddenly looking impressed.

"You're straightforward," he says. "I fucking like that."

Adam looks up to him and sees that he's smiling again, but this time it is different; it's a different kind of smile that he hasn't seen on this man before.

"You know what? We'll fucking share it. We'll fucking share the mac and cheese."

He puts a firm hand on Adam's shoulder and the latter shudders slightly, but resists the instinct of pulling away, and smiles back.

Adam carries the box to the cash register and they both wait for their turn. Just two adult men and a box of mac and cheese, the cheapest kind.

Adam waits patiently, absentmindedly looking at the bright red sign outside and thinks of how common neon is in the universe and our solar system – the fifth in cosmic abundance after hydrogen, helium, oxygen and carbon – and how very rare it is on Earth. He wonders what other elements are wholly absent on Earth but abundant in distant corners of the universe.

Nigel keeps fidgeting and shifting his weigh from one leg to another. He accidentally knocks over a shelf with bubble gum, and picks it up after Adam throws a judgmental glance at him. Then he places a box of condoms next to their mac and cheese and starts laughing. Adam announces he's not going pay half the price for the condoms too and Nigel stops for a moment, and then starts laughing even harder.

"Fair enough," he mumbles, putting the condom box back of shelf.

Adam smiles. Of course he can joke too; he simply didn't think it was funny.

* * *

"Where the fuck are we going now?" Nigel asks Adam when they're both out of the supermarket. The rain is torrential now and Nigel wraps his arms around his torso, in a futile attempt to protect himself from the cold.

"To my place," Adam replies and he's already walking, not waiting for Nigel to catch up.

Nigel makes a face that Adam wouldn't be able to read. But that's be okay, because Nigel himself isn't sure how he feels about this either. He's never met anyone like this fucking kid before.

"Aren't you afraid?" Nigel asks from two steps behind Adam.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of me. Of inviting a fucking stranger to your place."

"No."

"Maybe you should fucking be."

Adam stops walking. Nigel stops too and snarls in pain, wrinkling his nose and grunting, and presses a hand over his ribs.

"Why should I be afraid?"

"I don't fucking know. And you don't know either. I could hurt you."

Adam frowns, but his frown dissipates quickly. "You're injured," he points out. "You couldn't hurt me even if you tried."

Nigel raises his eyebrows. He tries to say something – _anything_ – but nothing comes out. The kid's fucking right.  

When Adam starts walking again, Nigel has a hard time to follow at his pace. His pain is getting worse and he hopes they're really fucking close because he doesn't want to look completely helpless right now.

"Do you want to–" Adam starts, and looks up to the umbrella above his head.

Nigel understands what he means, but hesitates for a moment. "Since we're sharing the fucking mac and cheese, why the fuck not?"

He moves over closer to Adam, under his umbrella, and Adam has to raise his arm higher because Nigel is slightly taller than him.

Adam is glad he took the umbrella that day. Had he taken his raincoat, they couldn't have shared it. He also briefly considers buying an umbrella especially designed for two people, but then tells himself that he's not going to need it.

Nigel is glad Adam took the umbrella that day too. He makes a mental note to remind himself to buy a fucking umbrella too. Maybe one day he could return the favor. 

Adam and Nigel both shelter from rain under the same umbrella. Adam's and Nigel's shoulders touch again, but this time it is not rough and painful. They're both careful not to take too much from the other's space. Adam and Nigel hobble clumsily on the street, trying to synchronize their steps. When they finally manage to do it, Adam announces they have arrived. Now Adam and Nigel will share macaroni and cheese.

* * *

It's Adam who prepares the mac and cheese. He's used to doing this. It's a routine task he has done so many times before, but never like this. Never for someone he has just met. He suddenly finds himself worrying if it would turn out well and he’s careful with every step, more so than usually.

Nigel wanders aimlessly around Adam's apartment. It's larger than his, and of course, much neater and more comfortable-looking. There are books in every room – large books, small books, colorful books, plain-looking books. There are illustrated books and newspapers, magazines and encyclopedias. There are whole sets of DVDs with documentaries, and Nigel can't spot one single fucking movie.

On a small coffee table there's some sort of fucking cradle with five little metal balls tied from its sides. Nigel has seen this before on TV, but never in real life. It's the sort of stuff you'd find in a teacher's office, not actually in someone's home. It makes this kid even weirder and even more fucking interesting. Nigel gets curious and takes one of the little metallic balls between his index finger and thumb and gives it a little push, making the ball at the opposite end move as well, with the three middle ones staying in place. Nigel raises his eyebrows and watches them move with fascination.

"It's a Newton's cradle," Adam's voice suddenly reaches out to him.

Nigel raises his head and sees Adam standing in the kitchen doorframe, looking at him with a little smile on his face.

"Named after Sir Isaac Newton," he continues, and then gets on step closer to Nigel and takes a deep breath in. "It is a device that demonstrates conservation of momentum and energy using a series of swinging spheres. When one on the end is lifted and released, like you just did, it strikes the stationary spheres. A force is transmitted through the stationary spheres and pushes the last one upward."

Nigel blinks slowly. "Fucking fascinating," he whispers, although he didn't understand much of what Adam told him. He's impressed, nevertheless. It's the kind of stuff he always wanted to know more about, but never dared to ask. Or never cared enough to ask. But it seems like he doesn't have to ask anything to make Adam talk. And that is fucking fine by him.

Adam would normally continue talking, but he has learned better than that. He has learned that people can't listen to everything he's saying, so now he's distributing the information he wants to share in little chunks, rather than tell them everything he knows in one go. It is convenient for everyone and it seems convenient to the stranger in his living room too.

"It's ready," Adam announces and Nigel raises his head to meet his eyes. "The mac and cheese," he clarifies.

Nigel nods and gets up to follow Adam to the kitchen.

* * *

Adam and Nigel are sitting opposite of each other at the dining table. Adam is wondering if the mac and cheese is too well done or undercooked or too salty or not salty enough or if there's too much cheese or not enough cheese. He suddenly finds himself terribly curious to know what Nigel is thinking.

"This is the best fucking mac and cheese I've ever had," Nigel says excitedly while chewing on his food.

Adam sighs with relief and smiles. It seems like he doesn't have to ask anything to find out what Nigel is thinking. And that is fine by him.

Nigel is aware he hasn't bought any cigarettes yet, but tells himself he'll do it on his way back to his place. He might have to ask for a painkiller or two before leaving. All the effort has strained him and made his injuries hurt worse than before and he's so fucking tired. But it's okay. For now, it's okay. He'll just finish his mac and cheese and then he'll see. One fucking step at a time.

"I'm Nigel," he says after swallowing a mouthful of mac and cheese. He extends an arm over the table towards Adam.

Adam hesitates for a second, but then grabs Nigel's hand and holds it in a firm grasp for a few moments.

Adam is aware he was supposed to watch the new documentary while having breakfast. It's now well past midday and instead, he's eating in silence with a stranger – with Nigel, now he knows.  It's a vague name and his accent is undecipherable, so Adam can't tell where he is from. But he doesn't ask either, because it doesn't matter. He's not disappointed with this unexpected change. In fact, he’s rather pleased.

"Adam Raki," he replies, smiling brightly.

"Adam fucking Raki," Nigel whispers with a smirk, as if tasting how the other's name feels on his lips. Pretty fucking good.

* * *

* _treaba s-a împuțit_ = _shit hit the fan_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://crave-that-mineral.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElenaGabrielaC) too.


End file.
